My OCs as "Vibes"
Um- as the kids say
Haider Wazim
Flowering trees, their branches drooping with fresh blossoms. Tender leaves shooting up the rich earth, glistening with dew. Paint-stained fingers. A nest of pillows. Your friends/family in one room. Hand-made, just-because gifts. The heady, earnest teamwork of putting together a wedding or a birthday party for someone you love. The divine scent of cooking, generous servings heaped on a plate in your favourite color. The tap-tap of steady, familiar footsteps down wooden stairs, warm, head-to-chest bear hugs, tight arms squeezing your pain away and filling hollow spaces with courage.
Nurlan Samal
Cigarette smoke. A crowded tavern, lively drunken chatter and gambling. Red lipstick, the second coat of makeup. Long nails flashing some metallic shade of red. Marigolds buried in black hair, preening at yourself in the mirror. Oil and fire burning high on Temple lamps, a prayer thrown to the winds. The scent of spice that makes your eyes water. Soaking in the busy street-sounds, blowing kisses to your friends. Thunderous applause. A picture of yourself that's come out just right. An arm around your shoulders, a throaty laugh in your ear - "Don't be shy, gorgeous, it's fun out here in the spotlight."
Zurkhi
Wildroses growing through cracks in cobblestones, turning up where you least expect them. Hushed, passionate whispers in the firelight- a plan to rise up against odds, topple a tyrant, swapping ideals and dreams till the sun comes up. A scorpion scuttling over bare arms, familiar as a friend, never dreaming to hurt. The fire-flash of a liquor shot burning its way down your throat. Stained sleeves, a low hum of conversation in many languages. Poetry learnt byheart. Winning an argument with ease and confidence. A rallying cry at the Town Square, a speech that picks at the fire in your spirit. A clap on your shoulder, the unwavering flame of deep, abiding conviction spurring you on as you speak your mind at the top of your lungs, over and over until your very voice cracks.
Kadambari Naayagi
The complex notes of a Veena playing in the distance. Anklets and rhythmic footsteps. The sound of a flute weaving through birdsong. The chittering of a squirrel and a short, high laugh. Sheet music abandoned in favour of improvisation. The kind of security you feel safe to get lost in. Daydreams, picking tiny flowers, fingers running through long black hair. Playing "they love me, they love me not," rolling dice, and singing through your chores. Losing yourself in art galleries or a stage performance- finally nailing a note you've been trying to reach. A running river rippling and sparkling in the sunlight. Curling up with a good book or diving into your favourite show, letting the world fall away. A warm hand on yours, gently urging you to let go of whatever you're holding on to that hurts.
Oxana Lebedev
Foamy, frothy coffee. Hot cocoa with marshmallows on top. A small, but luxurious cafe, with polite service and an evidently hand-picked menu. Leather bound notebooks and a gold-tipped pen. Pocket watches and rose-gold rimmed glasses. Ruffles. Pressed clothes. Lace. A polished storefront, a small, well-kept lab. Observations scribbled in a neat, systematic hand. Bathing salts dissolving in warm water. Long conversations about all your goals and interests. Platform heels on cobble stoned streets, bitten nails. A crossed-out to do list, a well organized planner. A bunny nestling into your lap. Soft gloved fingers lacing through yours, a stern warning to not talk yourself down. A sticky note on your mirror encouraging you to chin up and go get 'em.
Sergio Casimiro Leopold
Gemstones catching the starlight. A large, ornate mirror. Castle halls with lined portraits. Star charts, an intricately carved telescope. Silk sheets and fur quilts. Cognac at midnight. Braided hair and shimmering makeup. A confident turn of phrase, moving through the crowd to respectful murmurs. Golden crown shining in a glass and velvet box. Marble statues. Striking up a waltz on the piano, being drawn to a partner's chest. A hand at the small of your back. Expensive vacations. Being waited on hand and foot. Resting your head on someone's lap, a presence that always listens as you speak, hand running through your hair and murmured words of comfort.
Sybilla Livsdottir
A colourful tent, the jingle of charms from an overflowing pouch. A hip flask, the strong scent of whiskey early in the morning. Road trips and camping out with strangers. Long, dangly earrings. Rings on each finger. A bargain well struck. A campfire, dancing with more abandon than skill, the press of someone's body against yours. The downhill rush of wind. Turning back and knowing that the worst has passed. A falcon's wingbeats. Meat roasting over fire. Feline eyes. An accent you can't quite place. A door thrown open in a lodge in the middle of nowhere- a low, kind voice from within assuring you that the storm will let up, but in the meantime, here, some shelter, a fire and company.
What are your OC's "vibes"? 💜🧡❤️